


Wolf's Moon

by Taz



Category: Dog Soldiers (2002)
Genre: Bestiality, M/M, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-25
Updated: 2006-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:06:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1643123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taz/pseuds/Taz





	Wolf's Moon

 

 

Wolf's Moon

Mary MacGregor MacEwen who ran the B&B in Glen Mor knew she was lucky to even have a guest at this time of the year. That he was handsome was a bonus, but she stopped wasting smiles on him very quickly. She was still young and slim and her long hair was a soft shade of brown. Some even said she was beautiful and she was used to having men react, even the fags. But for all the notice this one took she might have been a fence post. It wasn't natural for a man to be that hard.

He said his name was Cooper and he arrived in the purple twilight of a late December day. The few guests who came to this small dark glen in the Grampians at this time of the year arrived with fly rods and gear and an obvious passion for pine-scented air and the trout that lurked in the frigid mountain streams. Cooper's only luggage was a well worn duffle bag. The first thing he asked for a map of the area, which he opened and studied, then walked to the window to stare out at the snow-capped mountains -- with no expression, no expression whatsoever. He asked for his key and he asked not to be bothered. He took his duffle to his room and went out immediately. No one knew where he went or what time he came back. The next day he slept late and, when he did get up, did the same.

The third day, down at the pub, Fergie had shown Mary a photo in an old yellow copy of the Tattler. The line above the photo screamed, "Werewolves Ate My Squad!" The picture underneath was her peculiar guest. Clearly the army had been correct to court-martial him. But why hadn't they locked him up for a murderer or, at the very least, a raving moon-lunatic?

There are no wolves in the British Isles these days, but the neighborhood dogs had put up a convincing ancestral chorus for the past week. Mary was going to tell him to push off, but that afternoon, when her guest came downstairs, she looked into his eyes and came over so cold and queer that the words stuck in her throat. She meant to have done it next day, but that night he didn't come back, lost in the dark, maybe, it was close to freezing. She was happy to be spared the trouble.

Cooper had not gotten lost. For the past week the moon had been rising a little after sunset and had ridden the sky most of the night. Just before sunrise it was still above the western horizon and bright enough to read by. Easily bright enough to see the figure of a man come out of the trees and climb up to where Cooper was standing, a black silhouette against the moon.

The newcomer stood in shirtsleeves. Cooper pushed back the fur trimmed hood of the arctic weight parka he was wearing. "Wells," he said.

"You've no business here," the newcomer said.

"I've no business anywhere, Seargeant Wells. Spoon. Campbell, T-Bone. They couldn't pin murder on me, but they could give me a Court Martial. Five years and an other-than-honorable discharge for disgracing the service."

"I'm sorry." White breath wreathed Wells's head.

"I thought that was it for me." Cooper unzipped his parka. "Then they commuted the sentence. Said it was a mistake. Said I had cracked. Said go home. Gave me money to keep my mouth shut."

"I'm sorry."

"I thought I was cracked. Nightmares. Then I remembered -- the army doesn't make mistakes. Went back. Everything was gone. The house torn down and the grass growing over."

"Go away, Cooper."

Cooper took off his parka and dropped it. "There were bones in the ashes."

"What are you doing?" Cooper didn't answer. He sat down in the snow, unlaced his boots and pulled them off. He stood up, unbuttoned his flannel shirt, unzipped his jeans and stripped them off. "Stop that!"

"No." Cooper jerked the black thermal undershirt over his head. The bottoms came off next. Then the socks.

"Put your clothes back on."

"Why?" Cooper was standing naked in the snow.

"You'll freeze to death!"

"It was hard. But I found a few reports. Dead animals. Sheep, mostly."

"Get dressed, soldier!"

"No." Cooper turned and began to walk away.

"That was an order!"

Cooper ignored it, walking faster and faster toward the woods below them.

He was twenty feet from the line of trees and almost running when the weight of a body took him down Cooper and the thing on top of him tumbled and rolled in the snow until they hit the edge of a rock shelf and dropped to the snow free but rocky ground below. The impact knocked them apart and drove the breath from Cooper's lungs. He got up on his hands and knees, gasping.

Cooper had imagined that he was beyond fear. He lifted his head to meet the blazing yellow eyes of the wolf and discovered that he was mistaken. He could dare the man, but wolf drew its lips back in a snarl, showing its teeth, and his body knew the primitive fear of prey. Teeth snapped together inches from his throat and he understood two things: that for the first time in three years he wanted to live and that this was death. The knowledge surged through him, froze his will and turned his bones to water. He whimpered as his arms collapsed and he fell forward and buried his face in his hands

The wolf made a sudden chuffing sound. Then its breath was hot on the back of his neck and he expected to feel its teeth. But it sniffed him and nosed him, making sharp little whining sounds as it nudged his face. Then he could feel its breath along his back. It smelled his ass. Then the weight of it was on his back. The fur of its belly as it snugged closer was soft against the skin of his ass and thighs. There was the prodding of something wet and hard. There was a piercing and a tearing and a thrusting. Blood running down his legs. He cried and submitted.

Then the soothing. The weight of the wolf was still pinning him down but a man's arms were around him, holding him. A voice was saying, over and over, "Damn. Damn."

The croak of Cooper's voice interrupted the litany. "Sarge...?"

"Private Cooper?"

"Aye."

"You okay?"

"Aye. "

"Next time I give an order, you obey."

12/24/06

 

 

 


End file.
